


Staig Week 2020 Drabbles

by fadedcryptids



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Staig Week 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:20:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedcryptids/pseuds/fadedcryptids
Summary: I just found out about this on the 6th day and you BET I'm pushing out quick little drabbles for this! I love me some Staig.
Relationships: Stan Marsh/Craig Tucker
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	1. Day 1: AU

**Author's Note:**

> I have a concept for a multi-chapter staig endgame fic based off of this if there's enough interest :3c
> 
> Day 1: AU
> 
> Florist Craig AU!!

Craig Tucker doesn't _hate_ his job. He isn't working retail, and most people who come in are either sad or romantic, which as annoying as it is, is fine. The worst he usually has to do is tolerate the ooey-gooey bullshit that he fucking hates- and even then, most of the time he can pass those people off to Butters. Butters is a lot better with those people, anyways.

Said coworker is humming a little song up front, voice carrying through the small flower shop in the silence of an empty store, when the bell rings and heavy footsteps- borderline stomps- rush up to the counter. 

Craig only puts his phone away because he respects Butters enough for that- only lifts his gray eyes once a wrinkled bill is slapped onto the counter by somebody who's clearly pissed off. How unusual.

"How do you say 'fuck you' in flowers."

Now _that_ piques Craig's interest. This is new. This is interesting. 

Flower meanings aren't Craig's forte- that's where Butters comes in. Craig can just identify them, put them together. His gaze doesn't leave the stranger as he calls for the owner of the shop, unabashedly drinking in the pale skin, blue eyes. He looks like a white version of Craig, to an extent. But his features are softer, his face shorter, eyes less tired. He's attractive. He's _interesting._

"Who pissed you off?" 

The strangers lip curls in distaste, and for once Craig finds himself hoping for some shitty drama to come spilling out. 

"My soon-to-be-ex. Dating him was a fucking mistake, I'm done dealing with his shit. I don't fucking care if he outs me anymore- he's such a cunt. He sent me out to buy him flowers as an apology, when I did _nothing_ wrong, and I decided fuck it. Now's the time." There's a pause, wherein the stranger seems to slowly realize he's just unloaded all of that onto- a cashier. In a flower shop. Craig can't help the small upward twitch of his mouth at the look of mortification that overcomes the customers face, and lets him wallow in it as Butters finally shows his damn face to the counter, and he explains they need a bouquet that says _'fuck you'_ \- a real nice one that probably literally says _'fuck you'_ too. 

"Fuck yeah. Kick him in the dick while you're at it." That twitch comes back when the stranger goes from mortified to a sort of nervous laughter, and it sticks a little bit this time. 

"Sorry. Didn't mean to dump that on you." The stranger apologizes, and Craig shakes his head just a bit. 

"Entertaining." A pause, and Craig reaches for one of the cards they'd use to write little messages on bouquets per request. Grabs his favourite NASA-branded pen from the penholder (which is really just a small painted flower pot full of writing utensils and things of the like) and clicks it. 

"Want a note with your breakup bouquet? Call him out on his chode in writing. The words will burn into his mind with how many times he'll read it."

It's with practiced ease that the stranger seems to pull a scathing message for his soon-to-be-ex, and it's a little pretentious in Craig's mind- he must be some kind of poet or songwriter or an English major. But that doesn't stop Craig from doing what he does.

When Butters shows back up with a bright bouquet of yellow, orange, purple and white- colourful to the point Craig nearly grimaces,- but it's arranged pretty. Craig passes the strangers attention over to his boss who happily explains the meanings of each flower- how it wraps up in a pretty bow to ultimately say 'fuck you!', and Craig takes the chance. Grabs another card while neither are fully looking, jots down his name and number along with a message- _'if you need a rebound when you're done, hmu.'_ Because when it comes down to it, this Stranger's still attractive, and Craig wouldn't mind taking him for a spin. 

He lets Butters finish up the transaction, and Craig makes sure to be the one to hand the bouquet over- to slip the card in where it should be noticed, but not until he leaves the shop. He nods in agreement as Butters cheerfully wishes the stranger good luck, hopes he tears his soon-to-be-ex-boyfriends heart out and stomps on it because he probably deserves it, doesn't even bother to try and hide it as he admires the ass from the exiting patron- which gets him a smack upside the head from Butters, but it's worth it. It's a nice ass.


	2. Day 2: Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which boyfriends Craig and Stan decide to go adopt a pet- but Craig is picky. (And weak to what Stan wants.)

"No fucking way."

The suggestion of getting a cat is shot down before Stan can even properly bring it up- he's barely turned around from the door into the cat room of the shelter when Craig shoots him down. 

A pout is swift to find it's way to Stan's face, and he crosses his arms as his fake-ass boyfriend approaches. A promise that they could go and pick out their first pet together, and the minute Stan wants to look at the cats, it's a no. As if that would make Stan any more likely to pick up a Stripe The Eighteenth just because Craig has a bias to rodents.

"Why not?"

Craig glances towards the window that sees into the room filled with roaming cats, and Stan can pick apart the twitch of his lip as one of distaste. This is so cruel. 

"Dogs are too much work, and you hate cats." It's a statement, and Craig shrugs in agreement with it. More or less correct. 

"Dogs aren't allowed in our apartment unless they're small. Small dogs are annoying. Cats are evil." 

Stan opens his mouth as though to speak, but just ends up closing it and huffing instead. The dog thing is valid enough- big dogs are forbidden from their apartment complex. And their little apartment would be no place for a big dog, either, no matter how often Stan would take it out. But cat's are _so_ not evil.

"They are not. You act like a cat, and you're not evil!"

That gets a genuine look of confusion out of Craig, which turns to one of offence, almost. Satisfying.

"I do not act like a cat."

"Yes, you do! Emotionally distant until you warm up to somebody, you're quiet but you have specific body movements and expressions as tells for nearly every emotion that you don't show as explicitly as people expect, you keep taking naps in the sun which is just- I mean, come on. And you're a lot cuddlier than anybody expects! You're lazy except for your bursts of energy in the middle of the night- and cats are lactose intolerant too. So, there."

Stan holds up the fingers he'd been counting on, as if it made more of a point to see how many items he'd listed off. Craig blinks, slow, and Stan has to resist from adding that on to the list. Those long, slow blinks with eyes that look like they're trying to read into your soul. Cats do that, too!

"Fine."

It throws Stan off his game- he'd been expecting more resistance. More of a fight to the whole ordeal. That's how it tended to go, anyways.

"What?"

Craig's eyes roll, and his long legs carry him over in a few steps before he's opening the door into the cat room, tilting his head to signal Stan to just go in, already.   
The grin that stretches across Stan's face at the fact he'd just won this much is bright, and Craig can't deny that he melts just a little bit at seeing his boyfriend so happy. 

"We can look." He clarifies, but it doesn't stop Stan from leaning up to peck Craig on the lips before rushing into the room. His enthusiasm for animals often resulted in being excitable around them. It's one of the things Craig adores about Stan, even if he himself doesn't much like animals outside of rodents. And the "Thanks, babe," that follows sways him just a little bit more. Maybe.

Definitely.

They end up leaving with a Russian Blue that Stan lost his shit over when he saw the name- 'Bluestar' or something of the like. She seemed to like Craig, and he could.. tolerate her more than the other annoying, loud ones. And her colouring was kind of nice.

Stan doesn't stop thanking him and taking pictures of the two of them together for the next week and a half.


End file.
